Step By Step
by DeepBlueQL
Summary: Modern!AU. Ned is a widower with 3 children - Jon, Sansa, Arya - and Cat is a divorcée with 3 children of her own - Robb, Bran, Rickon. When the two get married, their families have to learn to live with each other. Series of interconnected oneshots. Lots of Arya/Gendry. Chapter 6: They're his best friends; she's their little sister. Robb and Jon are gonna kill him. Arya/Gendry
1. To Have and to Hold, NedCat, AryaGendry

**Story Title: Step By Step**  
**Author: DeepBlueQL**  
**Summary: Modern!AU. Ned is a widower with 3 children (Jon, Sansa, Arya) and Cat is a divorcée with 3 children of her own (Robb, Bran, Rickon). When the two get married, their families have to learn to live with each other. Series of interconnected oneshots that explore familial and romantic relationships. Lots of Arya/Gendry.**  
**Rating: PG-R/K+-M**  
**Pairing/characters: Ned/Cat, Arya/Gendry**  
**Word Count: 2204**  
**Spoilers: None.**  
**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Story Notes**: Hey all, did anyone ever watch the 90's show Step by Step? It was kinda like a less harmonious Brady Bunch, and this story is partly inspired by it. I just liked the idea of Ned and Cat meeting after they already had children of their own, and the adventures and hijinks that would arise from having all of them under one roof. So this story is gonna be a bunch of oneshots that don't follow any particular order or chronology. Some will focus on the romantic misadventures of the Stark and Tully family members. **Pairings that will appear are Arya/Gendry (my personal OTP), Sansa/Willas, Robb/Dacey, and Jon/Ygritte**. There may be other ships and appearance from my fav characters from the books/show. There will also be chapters focusing on the family relationships. At the end of the chapter I'll give the kids' ages so that you know where this falls in a timeline. The rating is M just to be safe; later chapters may not always be so tame.

**Chapter Notes**: I thought Ned/Cat would be a nice way to open the story, and that the first chapter just had to be their wedding. But fear not, since I categorized this as an Arya/Gendry story, they dominate almost half of this chapter. Please enjoy!

* * *

"To Have and to Hold"

* * *

Ned looked warmly at the woman who leaned her head on his shoulder. Just a few hours ago he had been a widower, and she, Catelyn Tully, a divorcée, each with three children of their own. But now she bore his name and they were a family of eight.

Despite the loud music and raucous assembly, a contented fatigue was beginning to get the better of the two of them. They had both been through this once before and found that weddings were no less exhausting a second time around. Ned breathed in the soft lavender scent of Cat's auburn hair and looked out onto the dance floor to see all six of the new step brothers and sisters dancing and laughing. The wedding ceremony and reception, though long and tiring, had gone incredibly smoothly, more so than any of them had dared hope. This, of course, was in no way a reflection of the engagement that had proceeded it.

In the last 24 hours alone, two particular altercations came to mind.

* * *

Ned walked through the corridors of the chapel, mumbling his vows to himself. It had taken him only a few minutes to change into his tux and comb his hair, but, he knew from experience, Cat would need at least another hour yet.

Raised voices drew him out of his recitations and he followed the commotion to the room Sansa had commandeered to get ready. Jon was already standing beside the open door, unfazed by the shouting match, but ready to intercede in the face of imminent bloodshed. Robb hovered next to him, an uncomfortable and almost fearful expression on his face. Ned didn't have the heart to tell the boy to expect much more of this in the years to come. He would find out soon enough anyways.

Ned entered the room unflinchingly, despite the decibels his two daughters' shouts were beginning to reach and took in the scene before him.

"Arya, you cannot wear sneakers to a wedding!" said Sansa, going a bit shrill.

"Why not? They're clean and they're black," Arya rebutted, her back turned to her sister.

"Please, Arya. I borrowed these pretty heels from Janie Poole." Sansa's tone was now plaintive, clearly attempting a different tact. And Ned could see the younger girl begin to weaken at her older sister's plea until the Poole girl had been mentioned. Arya despised Sansa's friend.

Arya faced her sister and stuck her tongue out. "Never!" she screamed.

Grabbing Sansa before she could fly at Arya in a rage, Ned barked to Jon, his voice a touch frantic, "Arya's black ballet flats. In the car. Get them. Now!"

Jon nodded and tore down the hall, Robb trailing after him.

Ned sent both girls to their respective corners. He rubbed the back of his neck wearily. After yesterday's rehearsal dinner, he had hoped to avoid any more unforeseen dramatic situations

* * *

"I love you, Cat. I've always loved you, since I was a boy. Please, don't do this."

Ned froze; he had been walking through the hall towards the restaurant restroom. Surprised would have been an understatement, and Ned was curious as to who was fervently professing love to his fiancée. Peering around the corner, he saw his bride-to-be talking to a man he vaguely recognized. Ned recalled his face among many entering the restaurant as he held open the door for his and Cat's guests. Ned's grey eyes coolly evaluated the man with a hand on his fiancée's arm. The man was slight, not much taller than Cat, but he had a slick sort of attractiveness. Ned was sure Sansa would consider the stranger's refined features more handsome than her father's own craggy, stone hewn face. Ned let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when Cat shook off the man's hand.

"You did love me. But you also loved money and whores. And you never loved our children." Catelyn said, biting the words. "Go away, Petyr. Go back to my sister. I'm sure she's wondering where you are."

Ned started at the sound of the man's name. This must have been Petyr Baelish, Cat's ex-husband and the father of Robb, Bran, and Rickon. Cat had only ever mentioned him once, the man who had gambled away their savings and had cheated on her with her own sister.

Ned, uncomfortable spying on the pair, decided to make his presence know. Suddenly, another voice entered the fray.

"Dad?" came Robb's surprised voice from the other end of the hall.

Robb joined his parents, shouldering between them so he stood a bit in front of his mother, his guard clearly up.

Petyr affected a warm expression, his smile never reaching his eyes. "There's my boy. You're getting so big." Petyr went to ruffle the boy's hair. Robb ducked the gesture.

"What are you doing here?" the 15-year-old asked suspiciously.

Petyr narrowed his eyes at his son, clearly displeased. "I'm here to stop your mother from marrying some bastard, just because he's the first sucker willing to take in you brats."

Robb flinched, but his light blue eyes turned flinty. "Ned Stark is a good man, and he treats Mom better than you ever did. I wish he were my dad."

At those words, Petyr flushed with rage, and he raised a hand to strike the young man. Fed up, Ned took two quick strides and caught the smaller man's hand, mid-descent.

"I think you should leave," Ned said as politely as he could manage. The man whirled on him, and Ned could see the fear in his eyes, but he also saw a sort of desperate bravado.

"Ah, the groom finally emerges from his hiding place. Did you really think I couldn't see you over there? You Starks seem to have slow minds and quick tempers. This is who you chose, Cat? You must be more desperate than I thought. Please tell me he's at least rich."

Ned shoved Petyr against the wall. He didn't normally consider himself to be easily angered, but Petyr didn't seem entirely wrong at the moment.

"Get the hell out of here, and stay away from my family."

"They're not you're family," the smaller man spat.

"Yes. Yes, they are. Cat is my wife and Robb is my son, and you are never to come near any of them again." Ned's words were spoken so severely, even Petyr seemed to think better than to oppose him again. Cat's ex-husband slunk away in retreat.

Ned turned to face his fiancée. Cat had tears in her eyes and Ned froze. Perhaps he had overstepped his bounds. But when Robb hugged him awkwardly and Cat smiled, Ned knew they were going to be ok.

* * *

All of that unpleasantness behind them, and Ned settled back into his chair, his arm around his new wife. He could hear the happy exclamations of the children on the dance floor and looked over at them. Robb danced with Arya until she stepped on him one too many times. Robb laughed and pleaded with her to spare his toes. Arya shrugged unrepentantly and picked up her new brother Rickon and spun him about, much to the little boy's delight. Sansa took her sister's place dancing with their oldest step-brother and Robb seemed relieved. Arya nudged Jon to ask a pretty friend of Robb's to dance, and Bran hopped about to the music next to them.

Ned smiled at the scene, and kissed the crown of his wife's head. Life was good.

* * *

_Bonus Gendry/Arya Scene:_

Yep, Gendry thought to himself, weddings suck. He flushed hotly in embarrassment as he watched his father, fat disgusting slob that he was, proposition Allyria Dayne. Gendry only hoped she wouldn't slap his father and call more attention to the mortifying spectacle.

Rebuffed, Robert Baratheon stumbled back to his seat and fell into the chair, knocking the table and rattling all the glasses. Gendry could feels eyes all over the room on him. They vacillated from judging to pitying and Gendry didn't know which he hated more.

The wedding had been beautiful and the bride and groom lovely, and though he would never begrudge his best friend Jon and his family any happiness, he couldn't stop the pangs of jealousy as he watched everyone laughing and smiling.

Having been inactive for a moment, Robert began to crash, his eyelids drooping and body slackening. Gendry just barely caught his father before he face planted into his slice of wedding cake.

"Alright, that's it. Time to go home," Gendry muttered. Hauling his father up, Gendry made his way out of the restaurant as steadily as possible, considering Robert's near-dead weight burdening him.

Robert dragged his feet. "You think you're so much better than me, don't you, boy?" Robert said belligerently. Despite the drunk man's slurring, Gendry understood his father perfectly and chose not to respond.

Gendry tried not to meet the eyes of any of the people he passed and kept his head down. He wanted to quicken his pace, but he knew from experience that if he hurried his father, Robert would only trip and end up sprawled on the ground, embarrassing him even further.

They made it out of the restaurant without any significant incident, and Gendry threw his father into the backseat of the car none too gently. Robert only chuffed for beat before promptly passing out. Gendry locked the car doors and headed back inside to say his goodbyes before driving his father home.

He approached the bride and groom's table and had to wait a moment before they looked away from each other and noticed him. Had he ever seen anyone so in love before? His memories of his own mother were scant, but he could recall a lot of yelling and tears during the short time he had with her before she died.

Ned looked upon the boy with a broad smile. "Gendry, you're growing up into a man. Are you as tall as Robert already?" Ned asked in his rumbling voice.

"Nearly," Gendry said tonelessly. He disliked the frequent comparisons to his father. Honestly, he saw little of the man in himself, but enough people told Gendry he looked like his father when Robert had been young, that he had no choice but to believe them.

"Anyways, Mr. and Mrs. Stark, I just wanted to say congratulations and thank you for having us. I have to get my father home."

"What a responsible young man," Cat said dulcetly. "You are welcome over any time you like. You're practically another son to Ned and that makes you family to me."

Gendry ducked his head, almost bashful because of the warm affection in her voice. If there were any point in wishing, he might wish he were born a Stark or a Tully, but there wasn't, so he didn't.

"Your father's lucky you just got your license and can drive him home," Ned commented. Gendry smiled wanly and agreed weakly. The first time he had had to drive a completely drunk Robert home from some bar, he had been 13 and far from having his license.

Finishing his farewells, Gendry made to leave when a small body barreled into him. He looked down to find Jon's 12-year-old sister's heart shaped face peering up at him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

"Gendry! Are you leaving already?" Arya asked.

Gendry smiled at the little girl. He knew that despite being over three years older than her, she regarded him as something of playmate, though perhaps toy or pet may have been more accurate. She always seemed to delight the most in bugging him whenever he hung out with Jon.

"Yeah, I gotta –" Gendry started to explain.

"No, you can't go." Arya said imperiously, cutting him off. "Come dance with us." And that was the final word on the matter as Arya took his hand and dragged him to the dance floor without so much as a backwards glance. Gendry thought briefly of his passed out father, but allowed himself to be pulled along.

"You look nice," he said to her, voice raised so he could be heard above the music, "like a proper little girl."

Arya stuck out her tongue and made a face, just as he knew she would, and Gendry laughed. He had said it mostly just to tease her, but it was true. Arya was usually all scraped knees, smudges of dirt, and torn jeans. Now she was scrubbed and polished, in a satin sort of romper that was silver and made her grey eyes shine. It looked delicate, but could obviously withstand her rambunctiousness. Arya didn't need the makeup her older sister favored. Her clean and shining face was pretty enough.

Once they reached her siblings and new step-brothers on the dance floor, there was a tumult of activity: Jon clapped an arm around his shoulders, Robb shook his hand and Sansa hugged him shyly.

Arya tugged on his arm and started dancing with him, more jumping around him than anything else. But her eyes were bright and laughing, and her family seemed as enthused as she was. As he joined them, he thought to himself that weddings weren't so bad.

* * *

**A.N.: Thank you for reading, everyone! I hope you guys enjoyed this! Please REVIEW. Expect this story to be updated fairly frequently. Please keep in mind that the chapters are not chronological, nor will every character appear in every chapter. They are essentially oneshots that exist in the same universe.**

Ages:  
Robb Tully - 15  
Jon Stark - 14  
Sansa Stark - 13  
Arya Stark - 12  
Bran Tully - 9  
Rickon Tully - 7

Gendry Baratheon - 15


	2. Riding in Cars with Boys, AryaGendry

**Chapter Title: Riding in Cars with Boys**  
**Chapter Summary: Ned catches Arya and Gendry in the backseat of a car.**  
**Rating: PG-13/T**  
**Pairing/characters: Arya/Gendry, slight Ned/Cat**  
**Chapters: 2/?**  
**Word Count: 941**  
**Spoilers: None.**  
**Notes: In response to an ASoIaF kinkmeme prompt.**  
**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Chapter Notes:** Yay, second in my Modern!AU Series. I warned everyone that this story's installments would not be chronological. This chapter takes place several years after the last one. This was originally written for a kinkmeme prompt but has been expanded and revised. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Riding in Cars with Boys"

* * *

Ned walked to his parking spot, his footsteps slow and tired. The day had seemed to drag on interminably. Normally, he found his work at Winterfell Commercial Real Estate to be enjoyable and rewarding, but as of late, his silent partner, Robert Baratheon, had been decidedly less silent. Though the man was his best friend, and his financial contribution to Winterfell Realty was much needed, the man's input was not. Since Robert's latest divorce, he seemed to have taken a renewed interest in the operations of his most successful investment. All week Ned found himself deluged with phone calls demanding he look into the purchase of various nightclubs or bars, and today was the first day he'd had to concentrate on the contracts with the school district. He had ended up staying late, trying to catch up on all his work.

He entered his car and started it up. Ned punched the radio, thinking that perhaps one of his jazz or classical stations might be relaxing. Instead, what he received was the blaring of some synth-techno-pop CD that Sansa had evidently left in his car when she had borrowed it the day before. He turned off the radio, ears ringing, and decided against music for the rest of the commute.

Ned drove into his neighborhood and slowed the car as he neared his house. Preparing to pull into the driveway, he paused when he saw a Ford Taurus parked in front of his mailbox. It was a familiar sight; its driver had always been a frequent guest at the Stark household, and only more so as of late. However, when he noticed the fogged backseat windows, a lump of foreboding lodged deep in his gut. He killed the engine and parked his car down the street, so that he could approach silently. Long, hurried strides carried him to the car and Ned didn't hesitate before wrenching the door open.

"What the hell is going on here?" Ned said, voice thunderous. The startled couple had nearly tumbled out of the car. Two pairs of wide, shocked eyes met his glare, but it wasn't their eyes that concerned him. It was the hand half way up his daughter's shirt. It was her mussed hair and swollen lips. It was the way she straddled the young man, and how her hands were splayed on his chest.

They were frozen in shock, and, for a moment, only their heavy breathing answered Ned.

Sense seemed to return to the pair at the same time. Arya scrabbled off Gendry's lap as he quickly rebuttoned his shirt, missing one in his haste, and, not so discreetly, readjusted his pants.

Ned could feel a headache coming on.

He wanted to rage at the young couple. This was his little girl, his precious Arya! He had been long prepared when Sansa had started dating. That was an obvious inevitability. But Arya, his little Arya, Arya who always hated wearing dresses and disdained of acting like a girl. Even when Arya had informed the family that she and Gendry had started dating, Ned had never thought much of it. He supposed he had grown accustomed to seeing them act like siblings, and hadn't thought their relationship would drastically change. But now he realized that Arya had succeeded in practically skipping straight over being a girl and was acting like a woman. Despite the fact that she was 18 and that she would be starting college in a few weeks, Ned felt wholly unable to deal with this. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself.

Both of them exited the car and stood against it. His daughter met his gaze steadily, a familiar mulish look settling on her face. Gendry, however, had his gaze directed at the asphalt, his shoulders hunched. They were still holding hands.

Ned could feel his headache worsen.

"Arya, get inside the house and wait in your room."

Realistically, he knew better than to expect Arya to follow a command without protest. That didn't prevent Ned from hoping this once might be the exception.

"Dad, we didn't do anything. This wasn't Gendry's fault." Arya said, clearly more afraid for her boyfriend than herself, "I just –"

"Enough," Ned interrupted, his voice brooking no opposition. "Young lady, do not test my patience. You get yourself into the house right now."

Arya opened her mouth to object, but Ned did not give her the chance. "Right now, Arya Stark."

She shut her mouth, sufficiently chastised. Gendry released her hand and nudged her forward, silently encouraging her to listen to her father. With one last look at Gendry, Arya walked past her father towards the house, but just as she reached the front door, she turned back to the men and shouted, "I'll never forgive you if you hurt him, Dad!" Ned winced. His daughter's yell had been loud enough to wake the neighbors. Perhaps she had intended to do so, in order for there to be witnesses in case he gave into his inclination to teach the boy a painful lesson.

Ned turned to the young man whose posture was tense and eyes were screwed shut. "Gendry, go home before I change my mind and have to explain to your father why I shot you."

Gendry, recognizing a reprieve when he saw one, nodded and made to move to the front seat. As he was about to close the door, he met Ned's eyes and said, rather quietly, "I love her." And with those parting words, he drove off.

Ned groaned and brought his hands up to his face.

Cat was going to have to handle this one.

* * *

**A.N.: Thanks for reading! Please REVIEW. I love feedback and I'm happy to answer any questions that the little universe I've created may cause. I know this was another Ned POV, but I promise they won't all be. It just happened like that. I'm already almost finished with the next chapter which will serve as a companion to this one. It'll be about what Arya and Gendry were getting up to in the car before Ned interrupted and will be a Gendry POV.**

Ages:  
Arya Stark – 18  
Gendry Baratheon – 21


	3. Quiet Nights, AryaGendry

**Chapter Summary: Arya and Gendry in the backseat of his car.**  
**Rating: R/M**  
**Pairing/characters: Arya/Gendry**  
**Chapters: 3/?**  
**Word Count: 1081**  
**Spoilers: None.**  
**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Chapter Notes:**Third installment! Holla! I really want to take a moment to thank everyone who has given feedback and reviewed. Everyone has really helped shaped the way I look at the story and how this little world is starting to unfold. Thank you so much!

Anyhow, this is the companion to the previous chapter. It takes place roughly half an hour before "Riding in Cars with Boys." There are sexy times ahead, but I'm not particularly adept at writing anything smutty, so apologies in advance. Please enjoy!

* * *

"Quiet Nights"

* * *

These were the times he enjoyed the most, Gendry thought, settling into the backseat of his car, Arya's head pillowed on his lap. Whenever their dates would finish, he'd drive her home, and they would wait out the last moments until her curfew before parting. Occasionally, they would have only a few minutes before she had to be inside, but more often than not, they'd have an hour or so and would move to the backseat to be more comfortable. Sometimes they just sat in silence, his fingers idly in her hair, her shoes toed off, one knee bent, the other straightened so her foot touched the handle to the door. Other nights they talked, about everything and nothing: her frustrations, his fears, her dreams, his hopes.

He could remember the first time she had been in his car, four years ago, when Jon had begged Gendry to pick up his little sister from soccer practice. Gendry had just gotten his car, so even mundane tasks were still a touch exciting. But when the door was thrown open and instead of Jon's little sister, there had been this mud covered monstrosity that stunk of sweat and grass, he'd been horrified. When he tried to tell her she was too dirty to sit without putting down a towel first, she smiled, plopped down and made a point to grind her muck covered shoes into the floor mat. His car! His precious, hard earned, lovingly cared for car. Gendry had sworn he would never let Arya Stark into his car again.

But now here she was and there was nowhere else he would rather her be. This was one of the nights where they didn't speak, but Arya seemed more restless than usual. Her hand was by her head on his lap, her nails raking back and forth over the worn denim on his thighs, like a cat kneading with its claws. He wondered if she could feel him tensing beneath her head. The movement, her ghosting touches, her quiet breaths, her very nearness and presence, all of it drove him to distraction and he could feel his self-control beginning to fray.

There's a reason he parked so conspicuously in front of her house, and not on some grassy promontory, more picturesque, more secluded, infinitely more dangerous. No, Arya had entirely too many brothers and a father who scared even Robert Baratheon, much less his son. So, Gendry parked where he knew he wouldn't be tempted to push his luck. Arya was perhaps the wild child of the Stark/Tully clan, but she was still treated like a princess, and Gendry knew he would be taking his life into his own hands if he ever forgot to do the same.

But, distracted, his fingers left their customary place at the ends of her hair and began to make their way to the crown of her head. He traced a digit around the delicate shell of her ear and couldn't stop himself from tangling and untangling his fingers into her thick brown locks. The slight tug brought an unbidden moan from Arya's lips and Gendry froze.

It was like a starter's pistol. All of a sudden, Arya was climbing onto his lap, pressing her lips to his. Any protests he might have had died as soon as he tasted her mint chapstick. It made his lips tingle and created a slick and wonderful slide to their kisses. She was grinding on him, rising whenever she would drop kisses along his hairline, his eyebrows, the corner of his eyes, and lowering when she would place opened mouth kisses at his ears and neck. Even through the barrier of her jean shorts, he thought he could feel a tempting heat at the apex of her legs. It was a heady sensation, and Gendry found his hand toying with the waistband of her shorts before rising beneath her shirt, reveling in the soft skin he rarely allowed himself to touch.

Her movements grew more desperate, a needy and keening sound rising from her throat that shot straight to Gendry's cock. He was already painfully hard the moment she started with these fevered kisses, and her cry just now made him twitch in his pants. A small moan let him know she felt it, too.

When she licked his neck, his eyes clamped shut and he gritted his teeth, almost hissing in pleasure. He found himself pushed down, now the one lying, and Arya arched over him on her hands and knees. He looked up at her, at the way her soft brown hair fell over her face, at her parted red lips and the rise and fall of her chest as she took increasingly shallow breaths. Her pupils seemed to swallow the brown of her eyes, and even now, they danced with laughter. A blush crept across her face and down her neck; even her shoulders were kissed by scarlet. She was so fucking beautiful, and his heart clenched at the thought of her here in his arms.

His hand continued its eager progress up her shirt; when his fingers lightly tickled her ribs, her hips stuttered and her center brushed along the thick ridge of his arousal. An unbidden groan came from somewhere deep within him, and Gendry's other hand clamped on her small waist and pulled her down roughly so that she straddled him. Unthinkingly, his hips thrust upwards, seeking her soft warmth. The young lovers both moaned at the contact, and Arya rubbed herself needily against him. Finally, his hand reached the edges of her bra, his thumb tracing the sweet swell of her breasts. Arya's broken gasp emboldened him to cup the entire soft weight in his hands. Even through the bra, he could feel her nipple harden against his palm. He was beginning to feel dangerously lightheaded.

Gendry thought he could hear the sound of a car approaching, but lost the train of thought when he felt Arya's nimble fingers undo the buttons of his shirt. Her small hands trailed up and down the planes of his chest and followed muscled ridges. Unable to withstand any more, Gendry grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her in for a demanding kiss. His tongue pushed past her lips and plundered the sweetness of her mouth. Her startled groan was answered with one of his own.

And that was exactly the moment when he could feel the door thrown open next to his head.

* * *

**A.N.: Thank you so much for reading, all you lovely, lovely people. I hope you enjoyed this latest installment. As always, please REVIEW. I appreciate any and all feedback.**

**Oh, and a concern that was brought up a few times seems to be that I would write Arya/Gendry romance featuring a off-puttingly young Arya. It is not my desire to do so in any way. I do think that Arya and Gendry have been special to one another since she was fairly young, and I don't find that gross or sexual in any way.**

**My stories are just trying to explore the type of relationship that could arise from such a premise. But any mature or sexual encounters between Arya and Gendry (or anyone else featuring in this story) will happen at ages appropriate for mature or sexual encounters.**

**Also, I apologize if I was a bit slow in updating. I just discovered Downton Abbey and I'm trying really hard not to let it completely eat my brain.**

**My ASoIaF/GoT fics are also hosted on my tumblr. My id is HeavenFishQL.**

**Thanks for reading!**

Ages:  
Arya Stark – 18  
Gendry Baratheon – 21


	4. Of Purple and Lemons, Sansa

**Chapter Title: Of Purple and Lemons**  
**Chapter Summary: Her father called it flowering, Sansa just calls it awful.**  
**Rating: PG-13/T**  
**Pairing/characters: Sansa, slight mentions of Ned/Ashara**  
**Chapters: 4/?**  
**Word Count: 1737**  
**Warnings: Talk of menstruation ahead.**  
**Spoilers: None.**  
**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Chapter Notes:** Fourth chapter here, you guys! I can't tell you how psyched I am to be building this into a bona fide series. This chapter focuses entirely on Sansa and her family life and takes place before the first chapter. I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

"Of Purple and Lemons"

* * *

In the four years since Ashara Stark had died, there had been many times Sansa felt like the only female in the house. It happened almost nightly, where dinner was never fare conducive to a young lady's diet. It occurred every time the Starks went to the movies and they ended up watching an action flick filled with cursing and explosions. And Sansa never failed to notice it whenever they went shopping and she wasn't given enough time to properly browse. Her sister, of course, didn't count as a girl. Arya was the one who tried to eat more burgers than both Jon and their father combined. Arya was the one who complained the loudest when Sansa would suggest they see the Nicholas Sparks movie that Janie had raved about. And it was Arya who was always dragging them out of the mall before Sansa had a chance to really shop. No, between Jon and Ned Stark being so entirely man-ish and Arya's boyish antics, Sansa felt like the only girl, and it was a lonely feeling.

And never lonelier than now, Sansa thought, as she stared at her bed in mute horror. There was a stain in the middle of the bed, not large, but sizeable. It was a deep crimson in the center and near the edges where it had begun to dry, it was turning a brown-ish hue. Her delicate nose could detect a faint coppery tang in the air.

When she had awoken a few minutes earlier, bright morning light filtering in through the slats of her window blinds, Sansa had thrown a hand over her eyes. She had started to rouse, but then tensed. Even with her eyes closed, she had known something was wrong. Part of her nightgown had felt oddly sticky, yet stiff. When she had sprung out of the bed, she found blood staining her sheets. Panic seized her for a moment. It wasn't fair. Her mother should be here. Her mother would know what to do, and have everything that she needed, and Sansa wouldn't have to be alone.

But she was alone, and Sansa collected herself as best she was able, setting about to strip the soiled linens off the bed.

As she worked, she recalled a time a few months back, when she had been lying on her bed, working on her history assignment. Her father had knocked on the door and come in. Sansa had stared at her father curiously as he paced for a bit near her desk before perching at the edge of her bed. She couldn't remember ever having seen her dad so nervous before, and she wondered what the cause of his anxiety was. Sansa had asked her father if everything was alright, and Ned assured her everything was fine. She had found it difficult to believe him, though, especially since he still could not meet her eyes. Then all of a sudden Ned had launched into a rambling speech. He spoke rather quickly and Sansa only caught a few phrases: "flowers blossoming," "like the tides and moon," and "entrance into womanhood." It wasn't until she saw him blush and he stammered the word "menstruation," that Sansa understood. When she realized what her father was trying to explain to her, she rushed to tell him that she had already learned about this from a lady who had come to her class last year, separated the boys into another room, and explained what puberty would mean to the young girls. Ned's shoulders had sagged in relief, and he made to leave the room, but paused in the doorway. He looked at her for a moment, gave a weak smile, and left without another word. Sansa had been relieved when he had left; the conversation had been as uncomfortable for her as it had been for him.

Her quick and efficient movements were halted after she pulled the fitted sheet from the corners of the bed and discovered that blood had seeped through onto the mattress itself. Her composure started to crack. Her thoughts took on a tinge of desperation. What exactly was she supposed to do now?

Then Sansa froze when she felt drops of blood sliding down her leg. She looked down and realized she was still bleeding. Horrified, she dropped the sheets into a heap on the floor and fled down the hall into the bathroom and locked herself in.

Sansa made a beeline for the bathtub and climbed in. She cleaned herself up as best as possible, and used the hanging towel to dry up a bit. But then she sat down in the tub, still in her nightgown, as her mind struggled to come up with what to do next. She was hardly presentable, and there were none of the necessary supplies to be found in the house, not since her mother died. Sansa couldn't very well go out to buy anything, and she wasn't sure her father would want to, even if she survived the mortifying ordeal of asking him.

A devastating loneliness crept over her and she began to cry softly into her hands. How much she wanted someone here with her.

Her father had called this her flowering, but she couldn't see anything flowery or beautiful about this. It was just awful.

A light tap on the door made her lift her head from her hands.

"What?" Sansa asked, trying her hardest to not sound like she had been crying.

"Sansa, can you hurry up? I need to use the bathroom," came Jon's voice through the door.

"No. Go away!" Sansa cried, choking back a sob. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone, but desperately needed someone there.

"What? Sansa, I really need to go to the bathroom. What's going on?"

"Go away!" she screamed, losing composure completely.

The commotion must have drawn attention, and Sansa could hear the voice of her father asking Jon what was going on.

"I don't know, Dad. She just freaked out." Sansa gave a small "humph" at that assessment.

A stronger knock sounded on the door. "Sansa? Are you alright, sweetheart?" came the gentle queries of her father. She didn't answer for a moment, pouting. But when her father's knocks became more insistent and he threatened to come in, she shouted out, "I'm fine! Just go away!"

Arya's muffled voice joined her brother and father at the door. "Why's there blood on Sansa's bed? Did she get hurt?" her younger sister asked.

There was no response at first, and Sansa could imagine her father and brother's realization and disgusted faces. She brought her knees up to her chest. It was humiliating to have her family discussing her situation.

But still there was no response, and Sansa strained to hear what was going on. There was only silence.

Curious, she got out of the bathtub and padded over to the door. She pressed her ear against the oak for a moment, checking to see if she could hear any voices. When she couldn't, she opened the door slowly, and peeked out. Not seeing anyone, she opened the door fully and stuck her head out, looking around. Nobody. Sansa was all alone.

She closed the door, locking it before she climbed back in the tub to cry some more.

* * *

Sansa started abruptly when she heard knocking again. A glance to the clock by the mirror told her it had been 20 minutes since she'd ventured into the hallway and found no one. She must have dozed off, head pillowed on the arms resting on the edge of the tub.

"What?" she asked wearily.

"Sweetheart, can you come out? I know what's happened. We went to the store to get you some things," her father said, his low voice a touch hesitant.

Sansa made her way to the door slowly and opened it cautiously. She was greeted by the sight of her brother and father standing before her, Arya, hanging off of Jon's shoulder. Her dad wordlessly handed her a plastic shopping bag, and she looked through it confusedly. It was too full to tell what everything was and she dumped out the contents onto the floor.

It was like a rain of feminine hygiene products; there were tampons of a dizzying assortment, maxi pads of all sizes, and even something that looked suspiciously like a diaper. Most surprising of all was that everything was purple. All of it, not a single item was not some shade of lavender, violet, lilac, or just plain, bright purple. Sansa looked at her family confusedly.

"We didn't know what exactly you needed," her father answered.

"And I told them your favorite color was purple," Arya volunteered helpfully.

Sansa smiled tremulously. "Weren't you embarrassed? Having to buy all this for me?" she asked.

An incredulous look crossed her father's face. "Why? They'd have to be stupid to think I was buying it for myself. And if it's something you need, then, of course, I'd get it for you," he answered simply.

"Oh, and we got this for you too," Jon said, handing Sansa a small grocery bag. She opened it and looked. Inside was a lemon pound cake and lemon-ginger tea bags.

"Your mother always liked lemon tea whenever she was…you know…" her father said awkwardly, but gently.

Sansa looked at all of them. Jon was smiling nervously, Arya grinned goofily, clearly not understanding that anything had been amiss, and her father looked at her warmly. Her heart swelled with love for all of them, and she beamed even though her eyes had begun to tear up again.

"Anyways, we'll let you take care of things. Call if you need anything, sweetheart." And with that, he shooed her brother and sister down the hall towards the stairs. He gave her one last look, pat her on the head, and softly said, "You're growing up so fast. I wish your mother could see you," before following Jon and Arya down.

Sansa grabbed an armful of the purple hygiene products and put them back into the bag. She went back to her room and found that new sheets had been replaced on the bed and her favorite teapot had been filled with hot water.

After sorting everything out, Sansa laid on her bed, tired but content. She may be the only woman in the house, but it was much less lonely than she had thought.

* * *

**A.N.: Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading! Please make sure to REVIEW. Your guy's feedback is literally invaluable to me. The questions you've posed and the comments you've made have forced me to think carefully about the universe I've constructed and the characters inhabiting them. That and it's all so encouraging. I hope this chapter was enjoyable even if it lacked any shippery-ness.**

**2 quick notes:**

**1. I realized that I messed up the ages of Sansa and Arya in the first chapter. They were both one year older than I said. That chapter has been fixed to reflect this. I have all their ages and birthdates in my head, but sometimes it gets a little jumbled.**

**2. The Janie that Sansa mentions is supposed to be Jeyne Poole. I just thought that between Jeyne Westerling and Jeyne Heddle, there were already more than enough Jeyne's.**

_**Oh, and I do have an earnest question for all of you. I originally planned for Robb/JeyneW and Jon/Dacey, but lately I've been debating that.**_

_**Would you guys prefer Robb/Jeyne or Robb/Dacey. Jon/Dacey or Jon/Ygritte? Of course, I can't make everyone happy, but I do wanna know what your feelings are on this.**_

**Thanks ever so!**

Ages:  
Jon Stark - 14  
Sansa Stark - 12  
Arya Stark - 11


	5. Drinks in the Dark, SansaWillas

**Chapter Summary: Sansa meets a mysterious stranger when she sneaks into a nightclub.**  
**Rating: PG-13/T**  
**Pairing/characters: Sansa/Willas**  
**Chapters: 5/?**  
**Word Count: 3252**  
**Warnings: Sensuality (not sex) ahead. Some underaged drinking.**  
**Spoilers: None.**  
**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Chapter Notes:** I want to thank everyone for the feedback on the last chapter; I'm glad people are still willing to read even when the story's not shippy. That said, this chapter is incredibly shippy. I thought it would be nice to have a less angsty Sansa chapter after putting her through so much last time. This takes place several years after "Of Purple and Lemons." I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Drinks in the Dark"

* * *

Sansa crept down the stairs and past the living room where Ned and Catelyn Stark were watching TV. She could see the top of their heads cuddling together above the back of the couch, and _No Reservations_ seemed loud enough to allow her to pass undetected, but just as she was reaching for the handle of the front door, her father's low voice interrupted her.

"Where are you going?"

Sansa whirled around to find both her father and step-mother standing in the hall, arms crossed.

"Mom, Dad!" Sansa said, hiding a cringe at her overly bright tone. She schooled her features into a neutral and unconcerned look. "I'm spending the night at Janie's, remember? I asked you yesterday."

"Are you sure that's where you're going?" her father asked.

"Yeah," Sansa said slowly. Inwardly, she had begun to panic. Did her parents suspect where she was going tonight?

"Really?" he asked grimly.

Oh god, she thought, he knows! She was going to be grounded for months if her parents had discovered her plans.

"Of course," she said, trying to sound as sure as possible.

Here, Cat put a hand on her husband's arm. "It's not that we don't trust you, Sansa sweetheart. It's just that we know you said you broke up with Joffrey, but we want to make sure you're not going out to meet him tonight."

Relief and incredulity flooded through Sansa. That's where her parents thought she was going? She allowed herself an unladylike snort. "Why would I go see Joff? I dumped him," she sniffed, her voice thoroughly disdainful.

Her father smiled broadly at her sentiment. "Good. I never liked that Lannister boy, and I'm glad you're rid of him."

He came up to Sansa and gave her a quick hug.

"Have fun with Janie, sweetheart," her mother said.

Ned gave his daughter one last squeeze, and said, "Be careful." Sansa might have thought her dad still suspicious with such a farewell, but Ned always told his kids to be careful, whether they were going to school, or the grocery store, or a party. Sansa smiled fondly and bid her parents adieu, before leaving and closing the door behind her.

Her shoulders sagged with relief as soon as they were out of sight and she felt a twinge of guilt at abusing their trust. Then she saw the headlights of Janie's car pull up and Sansa did her best to push those feelings aside. She climbed into the car, tossed her bag into the backseat, and greeted her best friend.

"Ok, here's yours," Janie said, handing Sansa the newly minted fake ID.

Sansa peered at the card and wrinkled her nose. "Alayne Stone? That's gotta be the fakest name I've ever heard. What's yours say?"

Janie handed her the other card, keeping her eyes on the road. "Gracie Lou Freebush," Sansa read. "Ok, yours is worse."

Despite the awful names, though, the fakes were a nice job. And with California driver's licenses being notoriously difficult to fake, Sansa was duly impressed. Still, she wasn't sure it was worth the $70 they had each spent, but Janie had begged and begged until Sansa had finally relented and agreed to sneak into a club with her over the summer. And a few weeks ago, after the end of the school year, Janie had found a guy who knew a girl who knew that sketchy Greyjoy guy who knew someone who could make them fake ID's.

Janie pulled into the parking lot of Roseroad, a new club just opening. She quickly killed the engine and turned on the interior lights of the car and started checking her makeup in the visor mirror. Sansa took off her baggy sweater, revealing a light blue, sleeveless blouse, and slid a short black skirt up over her jeans before pulling her pants down. Into the small pocket on her skirt she slipped in the essentials: fake ID, emergency credit card, cash and lip balm. Sansa tousled her hair a bit, having decided to leave it down rather than mimic Janie's ponytail, and followed her friend's example by fixing her makeup: darker eyeliner and smoky eye shadow, scarlet red lip gloss, and a dusting of shimmer powder on the crests of her cheeks. A quick smack of her lips and a pinky swipe at the corner of her eye, and she was ready. The clothes and the cosmetics had succeeded in making the girls appear several years older. Sansa looked over to Janie and the two girls nodded before exiting the car and making their way across the parking lot to the club.

At the entrance there was a long line hugging the side of the building, and a velvet rope to cordon off those who were barred admittance.

"What? We have to wait in line?" Janie whined.

Sansa shrugged. "I guess so." And she sighed as they walked to the back of the queue. It was a small mercy, at least, that the night was warm and the two girls were comfortable in their scant clothing.

However, they weren't in line long before a man with a headset, a clipboard, and a Roseroad badge walked by and paused when he saw Sansa and Janie.

"Would you ladies like to come to the front of the line?" he asked, his tone friendly and just a bit flirtatious. The man was tall, perhaps taller than even Sansa's father, and very handsome. He had shaggy brown hair, a matching neatly trimmed beard, and twinkling golden eyes. Sansa noticed that he seemed more focused on her than her friend, but politely decided not to later point this out. The girls quickly assented and followed the man to the entrance of the club, both preening a bit under the jealous glares of those they passed. When they reached the bouncer, the burly man nodded to their escort and lifted the velvet rope for them without even a perfunctory glance at their outstretched ID's or asking for the cover. While Sansa was glad she and Janie were able to make it in without incident or charge, she was a bit miffed that the faked identification had proven unnecessary.

As they entered the club, Janie let out a squeal of excitement. Sansa elected to hold her enthusiasm in, but quietly marveled at their surroundings. Roseroad was opened to a lot of fanfare, all of it deserved. The vaulted ceilings were high and covered in a lattice work studded with shining golden roses. It looked as if the stars in the night sky had begun to bloom. There was a sunken, expansive dance floor, already crowded with gyrating bodies, a two story dj booth, an illuminated bar, and a second floor where gauzy curtains obscured recessed lounges and alcoves and bottle service looked readily available.

Their escort, who introduced himself as a promoter and some name that started with a G – Sansa wasn't sure; the loud music made it difficult to hear – parted once they were inside after wishing them both fun nights. Janie immediately headed for the dance floor, pulling Sansa's hand behind her.

Amidst the throng of people, the two girls danced, quickly falling into the rhythm of the pounding music. People pressed in from all sides and the air was heavy with sweat and artificial fog. Once, Sansa was stepped on by some woman in entirely too high of heels and too short of a dress; and she didn't even apologize. Twice, she narrowly avoided having a drink spilled on her, and far too many times to count, a hand brushed against her waist or hip, attempting to pull her back and up against some gentleman or other. But Sansa wasn't particularly interested in dancing with any boys tonight, especially the ones she saw every time she turned around to politely decline. She couldn't entirely deny that the attention was flattering, though. Janie seemed to have no such reservations and was happily dancing with some guy in a polo shirt with popped collars. But when a particularly persistent suitor wouldn't leave Sansa alone, Sansa shoved his hands off of her and reached over to pull Janie from her dance partner. Her friend was surprised and displeased to be separated from the guy, until Sansa shouted that she wanted to go to the bar to get a drink. Janie's eyes widened and she nodded eagerly. Drinking had been part of the reason she had wanted to sneak into a club in the first place, and the girls made their way off the dance floor.

However, as they neared the bar, the glut of people trying to siege the busy bartenders quickly came between the two and they were separated. Once she pushed to the front, Sansa spied Janie all the way at the other end of the bar chatting up a guy with off-puttingly large plugs in the lobes of his ears . A bartender approached Sansa and she stopped trying to catch Janie's eye and looked at him. Her breath caught in her throat. He was the most beautiful human being she had ever seen in all her 17 years. His wavy, golden brown hair brushed the tops of his shoulders, a perfectly sculpted face was turned towards her, and amused golden eyes fairly lit up the room. Sansa wondered for a moment about the men working at this club. After the promoter with golden irises, it seemed an awful coincidence that the bartender should have such similar eyes. But when the bartender's full lips formed into a heartbreaking smile, her thoughts sputtered and she simply stared at him.

"Can I see your ID?" the bartender asked. Sansa mutely pulled the fake ID out of the zippered pocket on her skirt and handed it to him, utterly mesmerized.

"Alayne? That's a pretty name. I'm Loras. What can I get for you?" Sansa smiled at the compliment, and, despite the fact that it wasn't her name, she felt lightheaded that he had called it pretty.

It took her a moment to realize he was asking her a question. When she failed to respond in time, he ducked away for a minute before returning with a pink drink in an elegant champagne saucer. He garnished it with a single floating red rose petal, and placed it in front of her with a flourish.

Sansa finally remembered how to speak.

"I didn't." She paused, aware her voice was too soft to be heard, and tried again, louder. "I didn't order anything."

The bartender grinned. "It's a cardamom rose cocktail, house specialty. You'll love it."

Sansa pulled out some bills from her pocket. "How much?"

The bartender waved a hand. "First drink is always free for cute girls with cute names." Sansa blushed fiercely and the bartender laughed, not unkindly. She couldn't stop looking at him, even after he was flagged by another patron and walked away.

Sansa tentatively tasted her drink. The rush of tart flavors hit her taste buds first, and she thought she could identify grapefruit and lemon. But the citrus was mellowed by a mild and foreign sweetness. She didn't know if it was the cardamom or the rose, but it was lovely. The drink was refreshing, crisp, and sweet, all at once, and Sansa wondered how the bartender had known she would like it or if just everyone liked this particular concoction.

She took another sip of the drink and looked across the bar for Janie, but didn't see her friend where she had been minutes ago. Sansa tried to scan the room, but there were too many people crowding around her for her to see very far. Leaving the bar area, she searched a bit, but to no avail. Noticing that the second floor of the club was less packed and would afford her a better vantage point, Sansa headed up the stairs, drink in hand.

This upper area was clearly reserved for more upscale clientele and VIP's, but no one seemed interested in stopping Sansa as she made her way around the railing that prevented any partygoers from falling over as they looked at the dance floor below.

She leisurely drank the pink cocktail as she sought Janie out in the crowd downstairs. She wasn't particularly worried about getting drunk or tipsy. Apparently free drinks weren't made very strong, and if the Thanksgiving when Jon had snuck a bottle of wine to split with her and Robb had taught her anything, it was that she had inherited the Stark ability to hold her liquor. Oh, and that Robb was a complete lightweight.

Suddenly, Sansa spied Janie's ponytail bobbing near the edges of the dancing mass. Wanting to catch her friend before she disappeared again, Sansa hurried towards the stairs, but tripped on a long leg and tumbled into a plush alcove along the wall.

Both her reflexes and strong hands at her waist prevented her from falling face first. She had smoothly twisted midair and found herself now seated across the lap of a man holding her there firmly, her hands braced against his solid chest. Her drink, however, did not have the good fortune of falling as neatly as she had, and both she and her rescuer were now covered in the cocktail. What had been pleasant to drink was decidedly unpleasant to wear, and Sansa could feel the sticky drops running down her arm. Her blue eyes looked up into a surprised face.

He was incredibly handsome, though in a very different way than the bartender or the promoter had been. Loras was beautiful, almost androgynous in his appearance, where as the promoter had been rugged and chiseled. But this man sitting in the shadows was classically handsome, with patrician features and a refined nose. His short dark brown hair was kept neat, except where it fell into his eyes; one particular lock hung wetly against his forehead, a consequence of her flung drink. Sansa was so completely in the thrall of his deep brown eyes, she never even thought to reach for the napkins on the table beside them and attempt to mop up the mess.

"I've never seen anyone fall so gracefully before," the man commented, his voice strangely awestruck. He did not remove his hands.

Sansa, flustered and flushed, didn't think before responding, "I've had lots of practice falling. Years of gymnastics."

The man's eyes darkened, his pupils widening, though Sansa didn't understand why. A thumb rubbed back and forth on her hip.

"What's your name?" the stranger asked.

Without thinking, Sansa answered breathlessly, "Alayne."

"Alayne," he murmured lowly.

A hand left the curve of her waist and trailed up her arm before coming near the neckline of her blouse. Nervous, Sansa squirmed a bit on his lap, and the remaining hand on her hip tightened its grip briefly.

Sansa started to lean back from him, unsure of what he was doing, but long, tapered fingers reached forward and plucked something off the pale skin at the hollow of her throat.

He held up a red rose petal between his index and middle finger.

"Cardamom rose cocktail?"

Sansa nodded.

"Would you like me to order you another one?" he asked, dropping the rose petal to the table.

She shook her head no, and he frowned a bit.

"Did you not like it?" His gaze never left hers.

"No, it was delicious," she said, and her tongue darted out of its own volition to taste a drop that had landed at the corner of her lips. Again his eyes darkened, and he leaned forward. Sansa thought for a moment that he thought to kiss her and her eyes fluttered shut, but then he ducked his head and gave a long lick against her exposed shoulder, lapping up the stickiness on her skin. Sansa's eyes flew open.

"Yes," he agreed. "Delicious."

Her hands tightened on the dress shirt stretched across a firm chest, and his lips quickly moved to swallow her gasp.

Sansa had dated since she was 13, just boys here and there, and Joffrey most recently. She had had her first kiss at 14, and Joffrey had certainly pushed for more, but between all those boys, she had never been kissed by a man before. And she was finding it a wholly different experience.

One hand went to the back of her neck and tangled into the hair at the base of her head. The hand at her waist pulled her hips as close as they could before trailing up the middle of her spine and pushing her flush against him. Sansa could feel something tighten low inside her and she clenched her thighs. Her head was tilted back so that he nearly loomed over her and her hands found themselves running through his hair. God, she loved the feel of the silky strands slipping through her fingers. One of the things she had never liked about Joff was the amount of product he had put in his hair and how gross it felt if she ever inadvertently touched it.

When she raked her nails against his scalp, he groaned and bucked his hips helplessly. Normally, in situations similar to this, and certainly whenever Joff had been particularly forceful, Sansa felt panicked, scared. But now, she felt in control. Overpowered, but powerful. Ravished, but ravishing.

The feeling went straight to her head and Sansa eagerly parted her lips to deepen the kiss, her tongue reaching out to meet his. She expected him to taste of alcohol as she did, but was surprised when she only tasted coffee, rich and black. The taste of caffeine was a delicious jolt to her senses and she eagerly explored his mouth, seeking out more. His hold on her tightened as a groan rumbled from deep within his chest. Wrenching his mouth away from hers, he began planting hot open kisses along her neck, licking and sucking the whole way, greedily trying to capture every last drop of the errant cocktail. Sansa struggled to breathe every time she felt his wet tongue against her heated skin.

Abruptly, Sansa stiffened in his arms. He released her immediately, his arms falling to wrap loosely around the small of her back. His breaths were shallow, and Sansa took a moment to appreciate his tousled hair and smoldering, but bewildered eyes. She reached down to her pocket and fished out her cell phone. The ringtone hadn't been audible above the din of the club, but the vibrating alert notified Sansa that she had missed a call from Janie and received a text.

"OMG, WHERE R U? TEXT ME 911 IF U'VE BEEN KIDNAPPED!"

Sansa jumped off the stranger's lap, suddenly aware what she had been doing and where. "I am so, so sorry. I have to go," she said hurriedly, not able to meet his eyes.

And with that she rushed down the stairs, not daring to take them two at a time in her heels, and found Janie on the edge of the dance floor, obviously looking around for her. It was only when Janie asked her where she had been that Sansa realized she didn't even know the man's name.

Meanwhile, on the second floor, a hand reached for a previously unseen cane resting on a nearby chair, and a lanky figure pushed himself up and walked to the railing to watch as a beautiful redhead practically ran out of the club with her friend. He smiled before tucking a red rose petal into his breast pocket.

* * *

**A.N.: Thank for reading, you guys! Please try to REVIEW. Your feedback means so so much to me. Let me know if you have any questions or concerns, I'm always thrilled to answer.**

**Willas, in this chapter is obviously several years older than Sansa, and she is clearly underaged. Just to reassure people, nothing illegal will transpire between the two. Though I'm sure that won't be much of a comfort to Ned. I pictured David Tennant while writing Willas. I know he's far far too old for a 17-year-old Sansa, so I aged him down him in my head. But have you seen his brown eyes? You could happily drown in those babies.**

**I personally loved this chapter for several reasons. First and foremost is that I got to introduce the Tyrell brothers. But I also loved that it contained so many possibilities for other chapters. The Thanksgiving where Jon, Sansa, Robb get drunk? That totally has to get written. And even though I was originally hesitant to include him, I think the Joffrey chapters will be interesting.**

**Ultimate decision about pairings:**

**Thank you so much for your response, both in the reviews and PM's that I got.  
I wish there were a universal answer (but then again, not really…the myriad of pairings is part of what makes fandom awesome).  
I have decided that the pairings will be Robb/Dacey and Jon/Ygritte.  
Robb/Jeyne fans, don't despair.  
I have plans to attempt a satisfying exploration of their story as well.**

**One last note (god, I'm long winded, aren't I?), I am going on vacation for a week (Missouri, to meet my boyfriend's mom for the first time even though we've been dating for 4 years, but that's what happens when you live in CA…wish me luck!). I want to get one last chapter out before I leave, but I can't make any guarantees.**

**As ever, thank you all so much for reading.**

Ages:  
Sansa Stark – 17  
Janie Poole – 16  
Willas Tyrell – 24  
Garlan Tyrell – 23  
Loras Tyrell – 22


	6. Splash, AryaGendry

**Chapter Summary: They're his best friends; she's their little sister. Jon and Robb are gonna kill him.**  
**Rating: PG-13/T**  
**Pairing/characters: Arya/Gendry**  
**Chapters: 6/?**  
**Word Count: 1846**  
**Warnings: Some sensuality**  
**Spoilers: None.**  
**Notes: Expanded from an ASoIaF kinkmeme prompt response.**  
**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Chapter Notes:** SORRY! So sorry for the delay in posting this! Rushing around in an airport is not conducive to posting the latest updates and since getting to Missouri I've been so busy and without internet until now. Thank you so much for your patience. This newest installment takes place before "Riding in Cars with Boys." Please enjoy!

* * *

"Splash"

* * *

The door opened and Gendry thickly swallowed, a groan stuck in his throat. He supposed it made a twisted bit of sense. After all, if she could run around on the coldest winter nights in only a pair of cropped shorts and a baggy t-shirt, then why wouldn't Arya Stark be standing in front of him in a black bikini on a rather brisk, early spring day? She had obviously just been swimming, if the puddle gathering on the tile floor was anything to go by. The smell of chlorine and sunscreen tickled his nose and he was painfully aware of the path of a single drop took down the length of her body after falling from a wet tendril of her short hair. He coughed and found his voice as quickly as possible. "Are Robb and Jon here? They asked me to come over."

Arya frowned in thought as she moved aside to let him come in. Gendry tried to give as wide a berth as possible as he walked by, afraid of what might happen if he accidently brushed against her dewy skin. He was starting to have trouble breathing normally and wondered if coming over had been a terrible idea.

"Umm, Dad and Mom won't be back from Palm Springs 'til tomorrow. Robb left with Dacey a while ago, Sansa's off with her boyfriend, and I think Jon took Bran and Rickon hiking." Arya tucked lock of hair behind her ear, and Gendry stared at the way the damp curl clung to her neck. "It's just me right now, but they'll probably be home soon. You can wait around if you like," she continued carelessly, already heading back out to the pool.

Gendry made an annoyed face at her retreating back and weighed his options. He was tempted to follow her, particularly as he watched her walk away; that tiniest lilt of invitation that had been in her voice, the trail of small, wet footprints her annoyingly distracting bare feet were leaving, and the way her hips swung just so – he took two unbidden steps before he halted himself. He knew it would be safer to stay inside, twiddling his thumbs, than following Arya and her bikini outside.

It wasn't even that the bikini was a particularly scandalous piece. He'd seen far worse; even the proper Sansa seemed to favor bathing suits intended to catch the eye. Arya's two-piece was sporty and functional, not titillating. There were no girly ruffles or flirty strings. But the way it highlighted the lines of her lithe body, the way it revealed the subtle curves he had only recently become aware of, and how it offset her porcelain skin, all of it made his hands itch for some reason.

Yep, staying inside would be safer.

"Ok, well…I'll just wait here…inside, I mean. I've got a book I need to read…for class…so…" Gendry winced as he caught himself rambling.

Arya turned around a looked at him for a moment before shrugging, seemingly unconcerned. "Suit yourself," she said. She walked out through the sliding glass door without a backwards glance.

* * *

20 minutes had passed and Gendry was still stuck on the same page. The words seemed almost another language as he gazed blankly at the page. Once or twice he had gotten through a few paragraphs only to realize he had no idea what he'd just read. His mind was distracted; his ears straining to hear every splash. He stared at the words, but pictured instead water cleaving neatly as Arya sliced through, powerful limbs propelling her forward.

Gendry knew swimming was her newest passion. Her fencing coach had suggested she take it up as a way to strengthen her muscles and lengthen her limbs, and she dove in headlong, so to speak.

He remembered one time he had tagged along on a Stark/Tully beach day. Bran and Rickon made sand castles, and Sansa laid out to tan. Mr. and Mrs. Stark read their books beneath an umbrella, and Robb tried to teach Gendry and Jon how to surf. All the while, Arya swam furiously, back and forth, closer to the horizon, unaware that her father, both her older brothers, and Gendry all kept one eye trained on her the whole time, lest something happen.

A few hours later, when he was walking back to the beach with milkshakes for everyone, he stopped short when he came upon her. Arya was standing beneath one of a quartet of showers, washing the sand and the salt out of her hair. Gendry hadn't been able to look away. Water rained over her upturned face and sluiced down the taut planes of her body. As she stretched out a leg and ran her hands over the toned length of it, Gendry felt his face heat up.

He knew a corner had just been turned. This wasn't the little girl who hid her tears when she scraped an elbow, but always relented and let him bandage it anyways. This wasn't the preteen who ran in the middle of a fight, not to break it up, but to get in a good shot of her own. This was a young woman, beautiful and attractive in a way so uniquely familiar and entirely strange to him at the same time. What this all meant, he wasn't sure, but for the first time he was aware the Arya Stark had laid a claim to his mind.

Eventually she turned off the water and shook out her hair. When he returned with the milkshakes a few minutes after Arya, everyone wondered why they were all melted.

"Gendry!" Arya called from outside.

Gendry started, abruptly jarred from his memories.

"I'm thirsty. My water bottle's on the kitchen table," she yelled.

He shook his head almost ruefully as he rose from the sofa to obey the implicit directions. Typical Arya, she never asked or even demanded anything of him. Rather, she simply expected; she expected that whatever she needed or wanted, Gendry would oblige. And he always did. He ruefully wondered if she thought less of him for it.

In the kitchen he spied a blue aluminum water bottle. Grabbing it, he made his way outside to the backyard. He climbed the steps to the above-ground pool, the wood paneling creaking beneath his feet.

Gendry found Arya waiting for him, arms braced along the edge, her head resting on her hands. He could see the little waves from the kicking of her feet beneath her as she stayed afloat.

"Here," he said, acting more put out than he was. "Don't know why you couldn't get it yourself."

She accepted the proffered water bottle. Arya set it down on the ledge of the pool and looked up at him, her grey eyes shining silver in the bright afternoon sun.

"Yeah, but then I woulda dripped water all over the house and Mom would get at me. Easier to just have you fetch it for me, Gendry," she said, smiling cheekily.

Was Arya flirting with him? When had she started flirting with him? He hoped his smile was charming; it felt a bit awkward, though. "As m'lady commands, I guess." A thought occurred to him. "You didn't seem to mind tracking water everywhere when you answered the door," he pointed out.

Her smile got wider, and Gendry felt his stomach make a small flip.

"I thought it might have been someone important. Turned out just to be you."

"Haha," he said wryly. Despite all her changes, Arya could still be a huge pain in his ass.

"Wanna join me?" she asked, pushing away from the edge.

Gendry shivered at the idea of swimming in this early spring weather, but didn't dare say he thought it was too cold. Arya would only tease him. He opted to reply, "I don't have any swim trunks."

"Oh, that's not a problem. Just borrow something of Robb or Jon's," she said unconcernedly.

Arya made her way to the center of the pool with a few lazy backstrokes, more floating than swimming, and her eyes closed as her face turned up to the sun. He tried his hardest to keep from noticing the play of light on her glistening skin or the fact that certain parts of her body weren't entirely unaffected by the cold.

"Are you coming in or not?" she asked, not bothering to open her eyes.

Suddenly inspired, Gendry calmly unclasped his watch and dropped it on a lounge chair. He took a step off the ledge and found himself chest deep in water – shoes, clothes and all. Arya, startled by the loud splash, opened her eyes and found Gendry next to her.

His clothes weighed him down and slowed his movements, but an unthinking determination carried him across the span of the pool. While she had to tread to keep her head above water, he was still head and shoulders above when he came up to her.

He reached out and took her into his arms, and she spluttered in surprise.

"What are you doing, you crazy bullheaded boy? Why did you jump into the pool? Gendry, what –"

As Gendry leaned in, Arya's eyes widened. She realized what his intention was and her words ceased. Eagerly, her hands flew up to both sides of his face, and she closed the gap between their lips enthusiastically. His hands gripped her hips tightly and she wrapped her legs around his waist and twined her fingers through his hair. Gendry bit his cheek, trying to restrain a low moan. One of his hands moved up the length of her back and planted itself firmly in the center, fingers splayed beneath the strap of her bikini top.

Soon, her tongue peeked out and traced the seam of his lips. He opened his mouth, his tongue meeting hers. Gendry smiled a little when he felt her impatience as she tried to kiss him deeper and hold him tighter. He gladly obliged, and for a few heart pounding, head spinning moments, their lips slid against each other, their tongues tangling and caressing. Eventually he pulled back, out of breath. Unwilling to part too far, he rested his forehead against hers, and heard her equally rapid breaths.

"I've been wanting to do that for so long. At least since a couple months ago," he said unsteadily.

"Why didn't you?" she asked, her voice also a touch breathless.

"Are you kidding? Jon and Robb are my best friends. You're their little sister. They would have killed me." Gendry paused, thinking. "They are gonna kill me. But I guess it's worth it."

He angled his head for another kiss, tilting her back a bit and almost toppling them both over in the water before righting himself. He pulled back and smiled sheepishly.

Arya laughed in his embrace. "I wasn't actually thirsty earlier. I didn't need you to bring my water bottle. Just wanted a way to make you come out here," she confessed, almost embarrassedly.

Gendry grinned and unabashedly confessed, "Robb and Jon didn't actually invite me over today."

* * *

**A.N.: Thank you so much for reading! It's been a little bit since we've had some A/G goodness in the series so I thought this chapter would be fun. Please REVIEW. Feedback is lovely.**

**I realized that I've been focusing on the Stark half of the Stark/Tully clan, so expect some Tully chapters in the future.**

Ages:  
Arya Stark – 17  
Gendry Baratheon – 19


End file.
